


A Land of Milk and Honey

by Toastmaster9000



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Attempted Historical Accuracy, Confessions, Finger Sucking, Fluff, Frottage, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Denial, Religious Guilt, Sexual Inexperience, The Mute's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastmaster9000/pseuds/Toastmaster9000
Summary: The Mute and Diarmuid collect honey from the monastery's bee hive and some unspoken confessions come tumbling out - quite unintentionally.





	A Land of Milk and Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senneres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senneres/gifts), [Iridogorgia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iridogorgia/gifts), [BookishTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/gifts).



It was perfect: a few white fluffy clouds dotted the wide open blue sky, a refreshing cool breeze blew in from the ocean granting some relief to those caught in the rays of the sun shining down on the monastery. God had gifted them a beautiful summer day.

Brother Ciaran had tasked him with collecting honey from the monastery’s beehive before midday prayer. It was a simple enough assignment, he’d been shown how to carefully extract honey without causing the bees any excessive distress from Brother Rua, as this was usually his job, but he was needed elsewhere today, so it fell to him - well, the pair of them, as he was rarely without his talkative shadow.

Diarmuid was always happy to keep him company whenever he was able. Willing and eager to do whatever he could to help around the monastery and learn new things. And being paired together had the added benefit of giving the young monk the opportunity to chatter to his heart’s content, which he happily took advantage of by voicing every fleeting thought that entered his mind.

Honestly, he enjoyed listening to Diarmuid talk. The other monks had less patience for his idle chatter and seemingly endless questions. He noticed that their impatience had made Diarmuid insecure. Every now and then when they were alone together, and Diarmuid felt he was being too talkative, he would feel the need to sheepishly apologize and look ashamed - and it was at times like those where he was sorely tempted to break his vow, just so he could ease the young monk’s mind: Diarmuid never needed to apologize to him for being himself. He loved Diarmuid exactly as he was.

“I know I wonder this a lot, but how do you think man figured out this could be eaten?” Diarmuid asked, glancing at him with an incredulous smile before he peered back into the the open hive, “I do not think I would have ever thought to take anything from bees.” A small smile tugged at his lips in response as he pulled a piece of sticky honeycomb from the hive with a pair of crude iron tongs and depositing it into the clay pot the monk was holding. Diarmuid did have a point. The honeycomb did not look particularly appetizing. And being stung by bees was not exactly a pleasant experience.

After placing the cover back over top the hive’s opening he looked back to Diarmuid and offered him a one-shouldered shrug; he had no answer even if he had not taken a vow of silence.

He then moved to extinguish the smoking branch they had used to subdue the bees, dunking the smoldering end into the bucket of water near his feet. Turning his attention back to Diarmuid he reached into the pot, swiping a finger over the honeycomb and popping it in his mouth with a playfully exaggerated smacking of his lips, which earned him exactly what he’d hoped for: Diarmuid’s giggling and that beautiful smile of his.

“I am definitely grateful for whoever did, too.” Diarmuid said, always able to correctly read what he was trying to say without using words, “Honey is very delicious - _and_ Brother Ciaran says it has healing properties as well.” Diarmuid beamed proudly at his knowledge and it made his heart melt.

How was it possible for someone to be so pure?

He gave Diarmuid a soft smile before squinting up at the sun - they still had time before Diarmuid was called back for prayer - and he figured they deserved a small respite for a task well done, so he moved a few paces safely away from the buzzing hive and lowered himself to sit in the cool grass, allowing himself to enjoy the perfection of the day. Diarmuid was quick to follow, settling in the grass opposite him and placing their spoils aside.

“Oh, dear.” Diarmuid laughed with a sheepish smile as he sat back and lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers to show where honey had missed the collecting pot and instead dribbled over the back of his hand, making a bit of a sticky mess of his fingers.

With a slight shrug of his shoulder Diarmuid lifted his hand to his mouth and - his breath caught in his throat, blindsided by his own reaction to the scene unfolding before him. He froze, transfixed, watching with traitorously open hunger as Diarmuid’s soft pink tongue glided over his own delicate, bony knuckles. Carefully and with slow deliberate strokes, that tongue lapped up the honey they had liberated from the hive.

He unconsciously licked his own lips, longing to have a taste… Did Diarmuid have any idea how incredibly entrancing he was?

Swallowing thickly, he watched Diarmuid slip his forefinger into his mouth - oh Lord, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, Diarmuid would definitely hear it if he didn’t get a handle on himself - could Diarmuid be doing this on purpose?

Was this… some sort of display for him…?

That didn’t sound right… the young monk didn’t even seem capable of having an impure thought and shame bubbled inside him for even thinking such a thing.

Diarmuid turned his hand up to draw his tongue between his middle and ring finger before he lifted his gaze from his his work to look at him through auburn lashes, where he paused, brows raising slightly.

All at once he came to his senses, finally noticing the quizzical look on the younger man’s face and quickly snapped his mouth shut - realizing with mounting horror that it had been hanging open - and quickly glanced away, face burning with embarrassment.

He had been caught. His imagination had gotten away from him and all sorts of horrible and sinful things were swirling about his head. He had been caught _staring_ at this holy and _pure_ being - one dedicated in every respect to the service of God - with want. With _lust_.

And he was _mortified._

He berated himself angrily, struggling to get his heart rate under control and banish the sinful imagery burned into his mind’s eye while also desperately trying to will away the hungry ache growing between his thighs

This cannot be happening.

Please, God, let this all be a bad dream.

A gentle hand on his face made him start but he obediently turned and hesitantly met the eyes of its owner. Diarmuid was looking at him, but there was no disgust. There was no anger, no judgement, no confusion or upset - only steady, searching soft brown eyes boring into his. Questioning silently. And perhaps a little... something more…?

“Did… you want to try some?” Diarmuid asked. There was a slight tremor in his voice and he could hear the monk’s soft breath shudder as he shifted closer on his knees - and all _he_ seemed capable of in response was staring, unable to quite comprehend what was happening… _This_ wasn’t happening. It _couldn’t_ be happening. For months - years, if he was honest with himself - he had been ashamedly fantasizing about Diarmuid and the cloying guilt and disgust with himself was making it very difficult for him to believe his own eyes.

Seemingly emboldened by the fact he hadn’t recoiled, Diarmuid’s hand slipped slowly from his cheek to cradle the back of his head where the monk’s thin fingers tangled gently in his hair. He could only stare, dumbstruck, heart hammering in his chest.

_Was this really happening_?

Then he noticed the hand Diarmuid had been cleaning with his mouth moving toward him, he felt the slick fingertips brush against his lips. Was he imagining things? Reading too much into a purely affectionate gesture? Perhaps he was seeing things that weren’t there - that was not exactly unheard of… He slowly shifted his gaze to lock eyes with Diarmuid and saw a coy uncertainty, but also desire - a hunger all his own - he didn’t expect to see that and he didn’t know how to make sense of it… but maybe he should just _stop_ thinking for once and let this play itself out…?

He let his eyes drift shut and opened his mouth to the trembling fingers at his lips.

And, albeit haltingly, the fingers slid in.

He had always enjoyed the taste of honey, it was sweet, maybe slightly tangy, earthy… but mixed with the taste of Diarmuid’s skin and the lingering flavor of the younger man’s mouth on those fingers - it was nothing short of intoxicating.

The pads of Diarmuid’s fingers were rough on his tongue, calloused from the years of working with his hands, and he couldn’t get enough of the texture, the sweetness, the faint tremble in those fingers as he stroked his tongue under them.

Then he closed his lips around them and sucked.

A quivering gasp drew him out of his reverie and he slowly met Diarmuid’s half-lidded gaze; his pupils blown wide, his lips parted slightly, cheeks flushed a soft pink and listening to Diarmuid’s breath come in quiet, shaky pants… he realized he wanted to hear more - he wanted to be the cause of Diarmuid making all manner of noises… he sucked slowly, hungrily on the fingers in his mouth and watched Diarmuid unravel with a sense of perverse satisfaction knowing he was the one doing it. Diarmuid was reacting to _him_ and he was more than content with just this, the fingers in his mouth and the others carding through his hair and clenching at it intermittently - and just watching Diarmuid… but the younger man had other things in mind.

The fingers slowly withdrew and he already missed the taste and the weight of them in his mouth, but he was quickly distracted by the younger man shifting closer to him. Responding instinctively, he reclined, palms pressing into the soft grass to accommodate Diarmuid as the younger man’s hands used his shoulders to steady himself, then Diarmuid climbed into his lap, swinging a knee over his thighs to settle as close as he dared, effectively straddling him.

He wondered absently where Diarmuid may have picked this up, had he seen others do this? Had he spied a pair of the other monks engaged in this very same thing…? The thought slipped out of his mind almost as fast as it had come as Diarmuid’s quaking hands cupped his face and their eyes locked again. Diarmuid looked almost pained, brows creased with worry and uncertainty and those beautiful brown eyes searched his own. What was Diarmuid looking for? Was he having second thoughts-?  
  
“Please… if… if you do not want me to-” His hand must have moved of its own will because he felt his fingers press gently to Diarmuid’s lips, silencing him. He gave a slight shake of his head, looking from one eye to the other, willing Diarmuid to understand that there was nothing in this world that he did not want from him.

His fingers fell away and barely a beat passed before Diarmuid surged in and the younger man’s mouth claimed his in an inexperienced but eager kiss, and he melted into it with a soft groan. His daydreams and fantasies had lacked in every possible way to the real thing.

Tentatively, he touched the younger man, hands slowly moving to rest at Diarmuid’s hips. His touch was light, afraid that if he indulged anything more aggressive this horrible and beautiful dream would shatter and he’d be forced back into a miserable reality where this did not exist.

But the mouth on his didn’t fade into thin air. The weight in his lap didn’t abate. Diarmuid was here and this was real. Diarmuid was kissing him. Gently, sweetly, over and over and he responded in kind, returning each and every kiss tenderly.

How had he never noticed Diarmuid felt as he did?

Diarmuid’s arms moved to encircle his neck as he wrapped his own arms around the younger man’s waist, pulling him in close so their chests were flush against one another. There he could feel the quick rise and fall of Diarmuid’s chest and the soft rush of air against his face every time the monk drew breath.

Dimly, he wondered how far this was actually going to go… As far as he knew, this had to be Diarmuid’s first ever intimate interaction, and as much as he wanted to pin Diarmuid to the ground, to give into his deepest, darkest desires and have his wicked way with the monk - he was determined to be gentle, he wanted to give every attention to Diarmuid. He wanted to show Diarmuid how much he loved him, how grateful he was to be found by him that fateful day so many years ago. His whole world revolved around the monk and he wanted Diarmuid to _know_ and never have a doubt in his mind about the way he felt…

He pulled back slowly to give them a chance to catch their breath but kept Diarmuid close. He kept their foreheads together and nuzzled into Diarmuid, their noses brushing lightly. He enjoyed listening the breathless little gasps Diarmuid was making, loved the way his fingers stroked and clung to his hair. He opened his mouth - he wanted so badly to tell Diarmuid how much he loved him, how he had always loved him - from the very first moment they met… If he were going to break his vow for anything it would be for this-

“I love you.”

He froze momentarily, letting Diarmuid’s words wash over him. He heard that correctly, right? He pulled back and gawked at the younger man in his arms. Had Diarmuid read his mind? Diarmuid began shrinking and looking steadily more uncertain as their stunned sort of standstill stretched on a few beats - but it was only because the sudden rush of joy was overwhelming him, it was something he had not felt in years.

“I do not-uh-- I did not mean-- i-if I am wrong--”

Whatever Diarmuid was going to say next was lost in the kiss he pressed to the monk’s mouth.

Diarmuid could do no wrong, not now, not ever.

Diarmuid _loved him._

He smiled into the kiss before planting several more on the monk’s lips, squeezing Diarmuid gently. The confidence began to bleed back into Diarmuid, he felt it with each kiss the monk returned along with the grip around his neck as Diarmuid clung tighter to him. He needed to show how much he loved him. Pulling away slightly he began to press soft kisses to Diarmuid’s face: the corner of his mouth, his cheek, temple, ear, jaw, trailing steadily downward, earning him quiet giggles from Diarmuid at the whiskery kisses. 

Soon the giggles dissolved into soft moans as his mouth found a sweet spot on the younger man’s neck.

Wishing to draw more of those sounds from Diarmuid, he sucked gently at the soft, smooth skin - barely resisting the urge to mark him - before he drew his tongue along Diarmuid’s fluttering pulse. He felt the monk shiver against him and drank in the contented moans and soft needy whimpers Diarmuid was making, he revelled in the tingles running up and down his spine from those sounds filling his ears and the way Diarmuid’s fingers tangled in his hair- but he craved more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hard, so desperate with want.

His hands moved slowly from Diarmuid’s hips, mapping the outside of the monk’s legs, caressing him gently through the thick brown robes he wore until he reached the hem and his fingers touched skin. He paused there, he didn’t want to overwhelm Diarmuid, he was determined to stay in control of himself and he was going to give the monk every chance to slow down or even stop if he wanted.

After a moment’s stillness Diarmuid breathed out a shaky “its okay” and stroked his hair, gently combing his fingers through the dark curls. That was all the permission he needed. He slid his hands under the monk’s robes, slowly gliding them over Diarmuid’s thighs and hiking up the dark robes, exposing the younger man’s pale skin to the warm open air while continuing to worship Diarmuid’s delicate throat with his mouth. He felt Diarmuid shiver and squirm under his searching hands then felt a sudden rough tug in his hair.

Obediently, he abandoned the assault on the monk’s neck and pulled back per the grip’s wishes but stopped again once Diarmuid claimed his mouth with his own in another heated kiss. He groaned into it as his fingers slid into the loose, thin braies the monk wore under his robes and gripped the bony hips. He opened his mouth, lost in the moment, and sought entry into Diarmuid’s mouth, and after the briefest hesitation, Diarmuid’s lips parted and he greedily plunged in.

The grip on his hair made his scalp burn but he didn’t care, Diarmuid was responding, moaning and whimpering in kind as the monk clung to him and he could feel Diarmuid grow steadily bolder and more confident with every stroke of his tongue. He wanted to devour every single one of those delectable noises Diarmuid was making.

And he wanted to be closer.

Much closer.

He wanted to be _inside_ Diarmuid.

With a low groan into the monk’s mouth he shifted his grip from Diarmuid’s hips to instead grope his soft rump and hauled the younger man as close as he was able, slotting their bodies together and bucking into the equally hard length between Diarmuid’s thighs.

Diarmuid jerked back abruptly, breaking their kiss with a wet noise and a muffled yelp. He blinked drunkenly at the monk, missing the feeling of those arms enveloping him, the hand in his hair, those lips- it dawned on him then why they had stopped and immediately felt guilt clench in his chest for pushing things too far too quickly. He was supposed to be going slow, he was supposed to be keeping Diarmuid’s inexperience in mind - he must have scared him...

The monk was staring at him, wide-eyed, open mouthed and chest heaving slightly and holding him at arm’s length. He was about to pull back and give Diarmuid some space - he wanted to apologize, do _something_ to beg Diarmuid’s forgiveness, tell him it was okay if he wanted to stop _-_ but then he watched as the monk coyly took his lower lip between his teeth and glanced down between them before locking eyes once more and exploratorily rolling his hips into his.

He was stunned - and quite suddenly realizing how very, _very_ hard he was. A shaky breath left his lips and he lightly squeezed the generous handfuls of soft flesh cradled in his palms. Diarmuid’s hooded eyes were staring into his, drinking him in- and the way he was biting his lip, the low moans he was making- the fact Diarmuid was _instigating this_ \- taking control, and - _God_ \- Diarmuid’s hot, hard length - exquisitely tenting his undergarments and grinding slowly into his own aching cock straining despairingly against his trousers - he was hopelessly adrift in the waves of torturous pleasure that were quickly rendering him senseless.

Diarmuid continued slowly rocking into him, watching him hungrily with every lazy glide of his hips, dragging himself down the length of the bulge in his pants before arching up into it again, creating absolutely sinful friction. His mind felt slow and heavy, kneading the soft flesh in his hands and moaned open mouthed between shuddered pants of his own as he reflexively returned every deliberate stroke with a buck of his own hips, their pace growing increasingly more fervent. He found himself unable to care that he was going make a very obvious mess in his trousers if this kept up… He needed it. They both needed it.

Thin fingers then slid to cradle the back of his neck, bringing their heads together and with every sharp exhale a soft whine escaped with it as Diarmuid’s thrusts became more hurried and fitful, harder, and more insistent. Diarmuid was so close, he could feel it in the way the monk’s whole body was trembling, the way he was panting open mouthed against him,  and it was driving _him_ over the edge…  Diarmuid was clinging to him tightly, digging his nails into the skin of his neck and whimpering, the pitch of his voice rising with increasing urgency--

And then the resounding _bong_ of the church bells caused their little world to shatter.

Midday prayer.

They froze and he sobered almost instantly sharing a wide-eyed, horrorstruck stare with the monk in his lap. Diarmuid couldn’t be late for prayer. If he didn’t show, the other monks would come look for him- Brother Ciaran- the _Abbot_ \-- _they would be caught_.

Diarmuid jerked back with a choked noise of alarm as the second bell sounded for Sext and clambered quickly out of his lap. All he could do was watch helplessly and try to hide his disappointment as Diarmuid, whose face was flushed bright red with embarrassment and shame, scrambled up to his feet and away from him. The monk looked almost near tears pushing his robes back down and smoothing them out. He looked down, inspecting  himself once he was upright, no doubt trying to make sure his monks robes did not betray any evidence of what they had been doing.

What were they thinking?

They could have been caught.

The monks were kind and trusting, they let him stay here at the monastery, unquestioningly generous to him - and always _asked_ for his help, never ordered him to do anything - they were compassionate and patient with him - the monks may even actually appreciate his presence, his strength giving them a semblance of security - but he had a feeling had they seen him defiling their Novice...

Diarmuid looked at him miserably and opened his mouth but nothing came out. What could he say? What was there _to_ say? This wasn’t Diarmuid’s fault, he hoped the monk knew that. He didn’t regret any of this, even if it had come to an abrupt unsatisfying end. Diarmuid shook his head weakly, mouth moving wordlessly, clearly flustered and upset. The bell sounded again and he watched Diarmuid flinch and look off towards the monastery. A moment later he bent to quickly retrieve the pot of honey that had lain forgotten to the side, gave him one last fleeting glance and a dejected “I’m sorry” before he sprinted off towards the sound of the bells.

He remained where he sat, staring after Diarmuid long after the monk had disappeared from sight.

He could still taste Diarmuid on his tongue, his lips still tingled from their bruising kisses, he could still feel the sting where the monk’s nails bit into his skin… and he was still uncomfortably aroused…

But what did _this_ mean for them now?

**Author's Note:**

> So Pilgrimage is an incredibly tiny fandom and I felt the need to produce some content for it because I am ridiculously in love with that movie. |D;;;  
> AND my writer buddies encouraged me after I forced them to also watch the movie and they also loved it - so, here we are!  
> I hope I MADE YOU PROUD, GUYS! <3 
> 
> This is the first thing in A VERY LONG TIME that I've really written? So, apologies if it is weird and rusty at any point.  
> I'm not super confident with my writing so, I agonized over this and read and reread it and edited it for like, a month. XD;;;  
> I was told I need to write a second chapter (or more) I got some IDEAS, but we'll see! ;;u;;
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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